


synastry

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Based on a Vocaloid Song, Bittersweet Ending, Established Relationship, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Couple, Not Really Character Death, ambiguous setting, vague illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Being in love, being married, a life together under the same falling stars — they are things that for Claude come with being human. In their corner of happiness, the seeds of sickness take root, and Claude is willing to do anything to ensure Dimitri keeps living.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 30
Kudos: 74





	synastry

_if one day i was human no longer,_

_would you still love me?_

Winter held a specific taste in Claude’s memories that the other seasons could never compare to. He hid among fluffed up blankets by the fire, away from the harsh bite of the winds outside, with the flavor of his favorite stew still lingering onto his tongue. Dimitri had woken up early in the morning to start preparing it — it was modest, like everything else about their life, but if someone were to ask him to choose between a banquet and Dimitri’s food, Claude would choose the latter. No, realistically he would choose a banquet prepared by his husband, though he did not shy away from the simplicity of their lifestyle. 

Dimitri had kissed him once they were both done eating, his lips a faint hint of iron and soot from the fireplace, ashes that had made Claude sneeze and both of them burst into a laughter fit for the following minutes. There was something else there, in the taste of the evenings, a drowning sweetness that Claude had become addicted to. At his side, Dimitri threw another log into the fire.

It was a harsher winter than last year. Claude had never done well with the cold, and while the snow outside was all the same, they needed new wood cut every morning. Yet no matter how bad the frost got, how much it threatened to come in through the holes in their small house, there was warmth inside. It was in the fire, Dimitri, and Claude’s own cheeks as Dimitri leaned in to whisper another compliment into his ear, one that Claude had heard many times before and still didn’t fail to shake his heart up.

He was trapped there, in the blankets, in Dimitri’s arms, and had no complaints about the matter other than that he couldn’t get back at Dimitri. He had a master plan for later, a prank so devilish that no one could see it coming, one that would have Dimitri fall in love with him all over again.

“You are plotting something,” Dimitri said as he pulled Claude closer. 

“It’s supposed to be a surprise!” Claude looked up at him. “Kinda unfair you can read me so well. You’re cheating, even.”

“Not my fault you have mischief written all over your face.”

They settled in closer to each other. Dimitri, used to the temperature, had no need to be cocooned up; he still wore thicker clothes than usual, a testament to the cold. The contrast between the fire before them and the snowfall through the window made Claude sleepy. Dimitri’s hand had found its way into his hair, a peaceful moment that would lead him to a dreamless and refreshing nap. Leaning against Dimitri’s chest, mostly to hide the warmth in his cheeks, Claude let his eyes rest onto the snow fluttering outside. 

Little cold stars raced to the earth. It was snowing as well back then, when he first learned Dimitri’s name, when they first sheltered from the cold together, when they —

“It was snowing like this when we first met, too.”

Dimitri’s voice brought him back from his torpor with a jolt. He had almost managed to doze off, lulled by the warmth and the taste of winter, the lovely taste he would never tire of. It did make him pout to be woken up, enough to jab at Dimitri with his elbow. His husband laughed at the gesture like he always did, loud and overwhelming, music to Claude’s picky ears. 

“You woke up from a nap less than an hour ago, Claude!”

“And I was more than ready for another one.” Claude put on his best pretense of being upset, though it lasted him merely a second. “Can’t help it. I like sleeping in your arms.”

“Forgive me for saying so, my love, but you like sleeping anywhere.”

Claude let out an appalled gasp, and Dimitri’s laughter once again joined the fluttering snowflakes, melting into the evening. 

Spring was carried by the birdsong of critters hidden away among the branches, shy to the human gaze but wishing to make their voices heard nonetheless. Some were bolder than others, they would get closer and fly into Claude’s open palms to peck at the seeds he was holding, rewarding his kindness with a different song. Claude would join them, at times, thrilled to learn something new from them every day; highs and lows, trills and long notes, the birds had more to teach than the best of teachers. He could follow along better than the previous spring, his hours of practice the past year finally shining through.

Not far away from him, on the porch, Dimitri was hard at work woodcarving trinkets for them to sell into the village. They were short on money, having spent most of it to get through the winter — most of their livelihood came from Dimitri’s handiwork and Claude’s weaved clothing, and they couldn’t procure raw materials the same way throughout the year. They had a small field dedicated to food and Claude’s flax crops; it was looking healthy that season, and he expected a good harvest by midsummer, before the heat would truly hit and threaten to harm the plant.

Dimitri did most of the toiling, even when Claude offered to help. He liked to work, and Claude had come to the conclusion he liked to watch his husband under the sun, muscles tensing and relaxing, the short breaks when Dimitri would come get a recharge kiss from Claude. It was a very human thing, to allow himself to gawk at Dimitri’s appearance every once in a while, because he did find it worth getting distracted for more than once.

One of the finches on his shoulder took flight just as Dimitri let out a satisfied sigh to signal that he had finished one of his wood carvings — a finch, mid song, waiting to be painted later by the both of them later in the evening when the cool air would make it a pleasant activity. 

“Need help?” Claude grabbed another handful of seeds and sat on a tree trunk, knowing well what Dimitri’s answer would be.

“Your company is enough. I only have a few orders for kitchenware left.” 

“The couple at the inn again?” 

“Those two,” Dimitri stretched his back before grabbing the next uncarved log, his hands as calloused and rough as the bark under them. “No complaints from me, with the hefty tips they always leave.”

“Must be nice to be young and rich,” Claude said with a dramatic sigh. He shifted his focus to the robin that was dancing in his palm. “The inn gets a lot of traffic all year round.”

“We _are_ young, Claude. As for rich, I cannot speak for them, but you are right that business is blooming. A lot of people come to see the stars fall.”

“I don’t find it that special.”

“Some things lose their charm, when you see them every day.”

“Are you hinting at something I should worry about?” Claude glanced at Dimitri through the bird’s flapping wings. He wasn’t worried, the very opposite, but it was always nice to hear the words of reassurance come from Dimitri directly. They had made a vow, after all, the day they got married — together in sickness and in health, they would share their joys and their pain.

“With each passing day you only get more charming. I could never tire of you.” Dimitri replied with the ease of someone who had said those words a million times, and would gladly say them a million more. 

“And the falling stars?”

“They have a far way to go before they ever compare to you.”

The chorus of birds accompanied them further into the day as the gentle sun rays began to dip behind the mountains and stain the early evening with flames. Claude had gone back to singing with them; tunes that he learned from a bubbly village girl with a taste for turning the mundane into joyous ballads; songs about the equal sweetness of apple pie and the smile of a loved one; songs about how plants sprouted from the earth; and, on Claude’s end, a song about Dimitri’s clumsiness when it came to cooking that the birds seemed to enjoy the most, flapping and chirping away with every verse about the struggle of peeling potatoes. 

Dimitri hummed along from time to time in a low harmony; it would make Claude sing with more soul, like there was no one but the two of them in the world. It belonged to them, and so did the music of robins and finches. 

With the setting sun, he had joined Dimitri on the porch and found a place to lay down among the painted wood carvings. His head rested comfortably in Dimitri’s lap, and his loved one’s rough palm would caress his cheek between whispered words of love that were they shouted, they would still be only for Claude’s ears to hear and no one else’s. Dimitri’s love, all his, until the end of all times. An idealistic dream yet one that he believed more in every day. 

“You have a beautiful voice,” Dimitri said out of nowhere as he leaned down to kiss Claude’s nose and the growing blush on his cheeks.

“Looking to kill me with compliments, I see.”

“Only as long as they also bring you back.”

Claude let his hand wander to the one Dimitri held onto his cheek. His definition of happiness was a simple one — those calloused fingers, those sweet words, and the loving smile Dimitri was wearing at that moment all came together in the most harmonious of melodies, the kind that only life could weave.

“Say, Dimitri.” Claude shifted so they could meet eyes. It made certain conversations easier on Claude’s heart. “If one day my voice were not what it used to be, if I could no longer sing beautiful tunes for you… would you still love me?”

“Without a doubt.” The reply came with conviction and a kiss. “Always and forever.”

“That’s an awfully long time,” Claude cast away his insecurities, and allowed for the softness of Dimitri’s kisses to carry him away. Always and forever. He would happily get used to that.

  


Summer was a vitalizing time of the year for Claude, fond as he was of the sun rays embracing his skin with their warmth. While he was more on the lazy side all year round, the scorching sun had him energetic. He crossed their crop field with the sprightly step of a fawn, from end to end, giving Dimitri a hand with the more stubborn of their crops and bringing water as many times as necessary. Unlike him, Dimitri would be happier if summer was only a second spring, though Claude saw it as an exaggeration. Light, warmth, all living beings craved those, didn’t they? He was no different.

He basked in the light by Dimitri’s side among the flax. They’d decided to harvest it within the week; Claude had come up with new designs for his fabrics, convinced he would make them more money so they could start putting some savings aside. He wanted to go on a trip, somewhere away from the mountains, to the ocean and the shores that Claude’s heard so many of the villagers dream of. He knew of the beach and the vast mass of water. It had been his dream for a long time to see them up close, and if he could share that with Dimitri, then it was worth working hard for.

Dimitri wiped sweat off his brow and stood up from the kneeling position he’d been sitting in. “Roots are healthy. I was worried considering the heatwave, but your call was good, Claude.”

Claude opened his mouth to deliver a cheeky reply but it remained unsaid. In front of him, Dimitri was swaying as if he was about to faint; nothing unexpected in that temperature, but anxiety already sat in the pit of Claude’s stomach, and the next second his worst fears manifested as if to mock him for daring to dream of a brighter future. Dimitri keeled over and collapsed back onto his knees, dark red blood splattering over flax leaves with every cough that rocked Dimitri’s body, and every time it looked like it would stop he’d cough again, and cough, and cough.

He lost consciousness at Claude’s feet, whose desperate cries for help would not reach down into the village. 

Dimitri’s sickness had reared its head in before, unpredictable as a curse, though a good half a year had passed since the last fit had struck him. Claude had dared hope it was gone for good, a rare gift of the gods. Things were never that simple. He hooked his arms under Dimitri’s and started dragging the unconscious man back to the house the best he could. They had used up all the medicine last time — it was expensive, and took time to be delivered from the capital. It was a race against the clock of Dimitri’s lifespan, and every single time Claude felt like they were only borrowing more months, not truly gaining anything. 

He laid his husband onto the mattress and rushed for the drawer where they put all their savings the few times they owned more than enough to go by. He all but ripped the furniture apart only to find a measly pair of coins that could not even buy them bread, let alone save Dimitri’s life. Frustration, hopelessness... Claude had experienced those before, always made worse by the thought of the universe trying to take away his little corner of paradise. 

Money, a lot of it, and quick. That was what Claude needed, and as the thought of how to make it crossed his mind and the dread settled in, so did acceptance. If it was for Dimitri, there was no too large a price to pay; as scary as it was, as much as it would risk Dimitri’s rejection, Claude had to follow through with it. Behind him the mattress and bed sheets shifted, and Dimitri coughed once more as he attempted to stand back up.

Claude rushed to his side to make sure he was doing none of that. “You need to rest. Please.”

“This is nothing, I can still —”

“ _Dimitri_.” Claude pressed down Dimitri’s shoulders, holding tears in the best he could. This would never get easier. “You’re always the one taking care of me, so if you don’t mind, stubborn husband of mine, I will look after you this once.”

Dimitri did not look convinced. However, he lacked the strength to actually get up, or even protest, something Claude found the farthest away from consoling. At least Dimitri seemed to give in and lay back down as asked during another coughing fit. “You are more stubborn than I am.”

“With good reason. I’ll bring you water. And I’ll find a way to bring you medicine. Until then, promise, no, _swear_ to me you will rest.”

“Promise,” Dimitri said in mumbled words. 

“Dimitri.”

“I swear.” He rolled around under the sheets as he trembled with cold despite the heat outside, clinging onto consciousness, but there was a gentle smile on his face. 

It was at times like that that Dimitri’s love stung like a dagger. Without another word and holding onto the decision he had taken, Claude left the bedroom. The fabric would not suffer if he happened to harvest the flax a week earlier than planned. 

Claude needed to weave.

* * *

Summer only got hotter towards its end, cicadas crying outside their home as if ushering Claude to hurry, work harder, work faster. He stood before the loom like every night since Dimitri had collapsed and strung the fabric with practiced perfection. Not a single loose string, not a single colour out of place. Between the threads of linen he pushed another one of light. Starlight went into each pattern and filled the room he was working in with light. He had to be careful not to leave blood stains onto his work, and it slowed him down more than he’d have liked. Claude wrapped a fresh layer of gauze over his fingers before resuming. 

The past month was nothing more than a blur, a heavy weight that clouded Claude’s mind until all he could focus on was making another veil, another dress, another piece. Dimitri’s condition had stabilized and while he was not getting any worse, he was not showing any signs of improvement either. He couldn’t stand or work in the field, or find the energy to cook the meals that Claude could still taste somewhere at the back of his mind. He had remained bedridden, at Claude’s request, yet he still held Claude with the same strength at night. 

Was his light dimming? Claude rubbed his eyes and looked at the stretch of linen before him. It looked the same as the others, at first glance, but he could tell it lacked a certain touch all his fabrics had at the start of the summer. The time he was fighting wasn’t only Dimitri’s, but his own as well, and the tips of his fingers stained red again as he went to work harder than before. A fresh batch of medicine a week meant he could not slack off — not for a single second. The pain would not deter him.

For every drop of blood that Claude spilled, for every bit of light that he lost, Dimitri’s would return. 

_Weave, never stop weaving._ He’d sing it like a mantra, nothing akin to his happy songs that spring, to try keep himself from faltering or give in to the fatigue. Day and night had lost their meaning, and by the time Claude was running into the village to hand over his latest work, to pay for the fresh batch of medicine again, the sun had kissed the earth enough for new flowers to sprout. 

He did not understand why some life was blessed and carefree while so many others were lucky to even have another day to breathe, to be human. Had the universe always been that cruel, and he was merely blinded by the light he lived in, or had he angered the skies with his love? Dimitri deserved to live as much as those flowers sprouting through the crack. The medicine paid for, Claude rushesd his tired feet back home; Dimitri was waiting, and he could not dawdle more in his thoughts than he already had.

 _Together in sickness and in health_. Claude mixed the medicine into Dimitri’s portion of their humble dinner. He was no cook, could not get food to warm him up inside like Dimitri’s did, but they both needed strength. He peeked his head inside the room to spot Dimitri sitting up and looking out into the garden instead of where he should’ve been, in bed; Claude was too tired to argue about it and instead knelt by Dimitri’s side to hand him his plate and help him eat. 

“How are you feeling?” Claude did his best to smile. There was no reason to make Dimitri worry on top of everything else.

“Better,” the reply came accompanied by another cough, “thanks to your care.”

Claude pressed the unbandaged part of his hand against Dimitri’s forehead. He had no fever that evening, which had to be the reason he was as up and about as he could be. “I asked for a stronger dose.”

“I am better, Claude, you cannot keep working yourself ragged because of me.”

“I will believe you’re better once I see so for myself.” The stew plate sat between them and Claude raised the spoon to Dimitri’s lips. He almost dropped it as Dimitri reached up to touch Claude’s hand and hold their fingers against each other; Dimitri’s, weakened but still rough, and Claude’s own bandaged and bleeding ones. 

Claude braced for what it could be. Disappointment, worry, anger. Instead, Dimitri held said fingers closer to his heart, and Claude was pulled into an embrace while his hand was not set free. 

“You have beautiful fingers,” Dimitri said with a whisper that only made the cuts sting more. He said it again, and peppered kisses on each of Claude’s fingertips as he ignored the fresh blood that smeared onto his lips. “The most beautiful I have ever seen.”

“Say, Dimitri.” Claude’s voice trembled. He could not bear to face Dimitri, to meet his eyes. He wished for his tears to remain unseen. “If one day my fingers were not what they used to be, if I could no longer weave beautiful clothes for you… would you still love me?”

“Without a doubt,” came the reply in a voice that gnawed at Claude’s heart, not because of its ill raspiness but the same sincerity it always carried, the same conviction. “Always and forever.”

“That’s an awfully long time,” and it had been so merely months ago, but time was a finicky thing. There was barely any left. And while it ticked down to when it would inevitably end, Claude did not leave Dimitri’s embrace for the rest of the evening, keeping it as something to etch into the tapestry of all their pleasant memories. 

  
  


Winter came and another star shower. 

Dimitri had gone out into the field to look at the skies like he did every night and tell stories to the myriads of stars that twinkled above him. He found them all beautiful both in their individual shine and in the beautiful blanket they offered the sky to shield it from the more unfortunate realities below.

A specific star had caught Dimitri’s eye, not far from his humble home, almost as if it was watching over it; its light held a green hue to it which made it stand out among its peers, and while it wasn’t the biggest one to illuminate the night sky, it was the one that Dimitri considered the most beautiful. He had spent many a night wondering whether the stars also looked down onto the earth below and found any sort of beauty in it — in the flowers swaying in the breeze, or the villages lost among the mountains that from far above had to form a colorful picture, or the few people that braved the outside at night and allowed themselves to be seen by their light.

The green star was nowhere to be seen. Dimitri’s feet had sunken to almost the ankle in the thick snow covering what were his crops for the rest of the year, and he discovered with a heavy heart that that evening’s shower had taken the emerald beauty out of the sky with it. With no other reason to remain outside, it was the sound decision to return home, but something had caught his eye in the distance as he prepared to go back to the warmth of the fireplace. Not too far away, at the edge of the forest, there was a suspicious mound of snow as if something had gotten buried under it.

Soon after he was on his knees, shoveling the snow away with his bare hands, his gut instinct telling him that it was not something he could ignore. It took a minute, two minutes, until the snow had thinned out and some had thawed under the warmth of Dimitri’s skin even in the harshest of winters, and from under the white mantle he spotted a patch of color. There was a man under the snow wearing nothing but the skin he had been born with; most importantly, there was a man freezing to death.

Dimitri had hooked his arms under and carried the stranger as fast as his legs took him back home; that very night, the man had regained consciousness, and had looked at Dimitri with eyes of an emerald green so intense it had made him forget how to breathe for the entire time they exchanged that gaze. 

The sky had lost his favorite star — Dimitri had found love in its stead.

Autumn corroded leaves into numerous shades of ochre, consuming all that had been previously green into a different kind of muddled out beauty. The leaves fell from their branches not so different from snowflakes or the heavy rains that still hit that side of the mountain late nights when the clouds would be brimming with water; maybe they too had thoughts that pushed them to weep and let it all out over the land.

Claude was on his last linen threads, on his last shine. He sat before the loom unable to work on the almost finished veil before him. It was his best work yet; it was big enough to be considered almost a tapestry and decorated with sceneries of the seasons dipped in nothing but love and joy. There were birds singing in their colorful spring corner, the waves of the sea crashing against a summer’s beach shore, the bounty of the earth spread across a long table for autumn.

And at the top, winter was weaved in as an endless night time guarded by a star riddled sky, and they all shined as real ones, white and pale blue and some even the faintest of green lights; an optical illusion, as green stars did not actually exist. They were compulsive liars, borrowing a color they never had, wearing a skin they were never meant to, working and hoping they would forget the truth and that the lie would live just a little longer.

Claude was tired. He had learned hope and despair and cycled through them too many times in the past months, and the mirror by his side revealed to him how much it had changed his appearance. There were bags under his eyes, and his hands had been irreparably damaged. Even then he kept them in bandages, adding new cuts on top of old ones, not to hide them from Dimitri anymore but to not have to look at them himself. 

His eyes, the green that had captivated Dimitri’s heart, only had a sliver of shine remaining in them; they had dulled out like the leaves outside and become dull and dry. With a heavy sigh, Claude turned the mirror the other way, unable to bear the sight for another second. He had to get back to work no matter how much it tore his heart apart to add to the threads, to weave in the light, to say goodbye without facing the truth.

There were many things he had meant to say to Dimitri ever since he was rescued from the snow that fateful night, though fate had had nothing to do with it. How was he supposed to voice all the nights that he had listened to Dimitri’s stories, all the nights that they had looked at each other, way before Claude brought himself to the doorstep of the future he wanted? All of it had remained locked into Claude’s heart; it was perhaps for the best, for things to stay that way, for Dimitri to be left wondering.

It was the least painful outcome for the both of them. Claude would not be the one to sell this last veil, but it would get Dimitri enough medicine to carry him through the rest of autumn and the upcoming winter frost — it was too much to hope it would help him recover for good, but there were times when Claude knew he was idealistic. It was that very idealism that had made him be rash and do the unthinkable to begin with, and which pushed him even then.

Love, being human, they were experiences he was lucky to have had. He was even luckier that they were with Dimitri, and so there had to be no room for regrets left in his heart, only the sweet embraces and sheltered nights, the way Dimitri always smiled like Claude was the world and if that was the case then yes, Claude wanted to _be_ the world for as long as it would allow him.

The loom waited for him. Claude swallowed dry and got back to work as he removed the last of his light and his eyes lost all their shine, as he didn’t let any more pain or bleeding deter him. Dimitri was fast asleep in their bedroom at the other end of the house, and Claude had to ask the hardest of questions to the fabric before him instead, hoping that Dimitri’s answer would be the same it always had been.

The veil finished before him, Claude allowed his body to slump.

“Say, Dimitri,” — and what was there to say, when Claude was so cruel, crueler than the universe dragging them apart — “if one day I were to show you my true colors, if I was the human you’ve come to know no longer… would you still love me?”

“Without a doubt,” and the words were not in Claude’s imagination. Dimitri’s strong arms had wrapped around him and pulled him backwards to be held tightly against his husband’s chest, a crushing embrace that took Claude by surprise and caused him to flail at first. “Always and forever,” Dimitri added as he kissed Claude’s nape to calm him down. 

How long had he been watching? For how long did he know? The questions ran around Claude’s mind, though his consciousness had already begun to fade. The tips of his fingers were already gone and the rest of his hands were beginning to follow, stardust by stardust, as Dimitri only held him tighter. 

“I never forgot the day we first met,” Dimitri’s voice soothed him, a caress unlike any other. “The star that has watched over me ever since I lost everything, ever since I ran away to become a simple villager. When I looked up at the sky that night, wounded and afraid, and you showed me the way to this abandoned home.” He put his hands over Claude’s vanishing own. They were not trembling anymore, and had regained some color. Dimitri was recovering. “I had loved you ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. He should’ve known Dimitri’s sincerity was no trick of the light, that at any time he could’ve said the truth and it would’ve only brought Dimitri the same joy a kiss did every frozen morning. “Always and forever? That’s an awfully long time, to love someone like me.”

“Always and forever. Please keep watching over me, Claude. I will never forget you.”

They did not kiss. Claude did not turn around in Dimitri’s arms, to see his face one last time, to say a proper goodbye. He wanted Dimitri’s last moments with him to be the best they could be; no empty eyes, no sad partings, only the embrace of the loved one as the last of Claude’s borrowed body turned into stardust and a gust of wind carried it out into the night and towards the skies.

The veil remained, brighter than the washed colors of autumn; Dimitri would never bring himself to sell it. 

  


“You’ve recovered completely,” the young doctor started putting her things away. She had moved into the village at the end of the year, and brought much knowledge from the capital, making certain medicine more affordable and accessible to the village than before. They had no one before her arrival; it had been a gift from the gods, or so did the villagers think. Dimitri considered her a gift from someone else.

“Thank you, Mercedes. How come you’ve moved to a place like this, if you do not mind me asking?” 

“Oh, not at all.” She offered Dimitri a warm smile, one that only people who had been through more pain than there were words to describe could wear. “I was curious about the star showers. And I heard that you have a very odd phenomenon in this town. The bright green star that can only be seen from your house. I have to admit, it’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“I know,” Dimitri replied with a distant smile of his own. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful of stars. And in sickness, in health, until Dimitri would be able to join it in the night sky, they would share the same moments of joy they always had. 


End file.
